


We are not the roles you put us in (but there is safety in the knowing)

by Anonymous



Series: Bee Writes Stuff [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Immortality, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, Slight self dehumanization, Supernatural Elements, Trauma, Villain Karl Jacobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: On a lake, crystal clear and calm, there is a floating house, almost finished with it's construction. The pathways leading to lush and beautiful land.Once again the Chaos Entity is in garish clashing colors. Once again he is in green. Standing in the middle of a small cluster of buildings in the middle of a vast landscape.How many times? Too many times.
Series: Bee Writes Stuff [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121843
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Stage Set and Begin

A figure stands before an abandoned village, the buildings quiet. There's the faint smell of blood and the distant crackle of lava. A town full of people, now empty and lifeless. Sitting on his tower of dirt, heels kicking against the side as he writes and hums an ancient tune. Below, comes a small growl. It's inhuman, but doesn't match any other creature. Only belonging to one being. Looking down, he sees the entity and waves as if to a friend.

"Ah, there you are! I was almost worried something happened! Not like it could." He calls. Smiling in a joyful, if unnerving way. His mouth shifts in to something inhuman, a hint of his actual appearance. Not the simple human facade he wore like a coat.

The other floated up to be level with him, high on his perch. An old, slightly tattered, dark green cloak wrapped tightly around him. Brown tunic and pants faded with age and sunlight. The hood pulled over the head mostly obscured the face in shadow, the rest hidden by black cloth covering everything below his eyes. There were still faint stains of blood around his chest, the cloak and tunic beneath still torn by the passage of a blade. There's silence, only the faint glow of narrowed inhuman eyes and stiff body language giving away the pure rage. 

"I have to say, this was an interesting story! I might have to try it again some time later." He laughs, waving his quill slightly in the shadowed face.

Almost impossibly, the murderous intent just grew. There was a tiny part of him that flinched away. The rest didn't care at all. He couldn't be harmed. He couldn't be stopped. The other knew this and the writer trakes a measure of joy in the distress it causes the more…natural being.

"Oh, calm down. They'll come back eventually." He closed the book and put it back in his inventory.

"So what? You just keep hurting people for centuries. Can't you be done?" The floating being snapped. Fingers twitching under the cloak. "You could stop. You can just be done and live normally."

The writer snorted, "Like you tried to? Not like anything like us can. No, I like this better." He smiled.

"You killed my kid."

"So? He was just a human."

There's more guttural growling before the other drops from his levitation, landing solidly in the dirt. Holding out gloved hands, flowers spawned in his grip. The cloaked man set the bundles down around the well in the center of the town. The first entity, still sitting on his dirt tower just watched, amused at the little ritual. It wasn't the first time it had happened. The dedication to the ritual after all these centuries both delighted and baffled the chaos entity.

On the one hand it made the green figure predictable. All his motives and thought processes easy to see and use. On the other, it was probably boring, to him at least. Always placing flowers and now that was complete, the second part, important objects, in some important place had to get old.

"You done?" He called. Below him, the cloak swished as the other turned to glare at him. The last object placed, a hat. He stares at it, or the chaos entity thinks he does. There's a moment of still silence and if he had to guess, grief. The other turned and started to walk off. Following an old trail into the forest, beaten down by years of footsteps.

"Hey!" He lept down, dropping the the solid ground. "Where are you going?" He got no reply. "Come on, don't be rude." He called, catching up with the entity, reaching up to tap on his shoulder. Jacket flapping slightly behind him. The fabric is slightly rough and dirty. He'd forced to drop his hand as the other spun to face him, yellow-green eyes narrowed.

"Go away, Karl." There's a blade pointed at his throat. Not that it would do anything. But the sentiment is clear. If he could be killed, there would be no hesitation. In fact the entity might take joy from the deed.

"You got to admit, that was interesting and fun! And if you aren't going to take advantage of your status, you can't blame me for taking advantage of mine." Karl ignores the fact that they are entirely different creatures. That the other can't even do something like he does without going against his very nature. Like an enderman going swimming.

"Yes I can." And with a turn the other was gone. Teleporting who knows where to silk because his people had been killed again. It's ridiculous.

"Rude. Anyway, goodbye Town That Went Mad." Karl waved to the town behind him before he headed off in his own direction. To his own house hidden deep in the woods. Not that it matters, Cornelius-or-whatever-name would know where it was anyway. 

There were still so many stories to tell.

\---

On a lake, crystal clear and calm, there is a floating house, almost finished with it's construction. The pathways leading to lush and beautiful land. 

"Dream!" A young man calls, hair barely pulled from his eyes by a strip of white. "This is Karl! He's a new friend. He's going to join us."

History just repeats itself as two entities make eye contact.

"Sure. Nice to meet you."

Once again the Chaos Entity is in garish clashing colors. Once again he is in green. Standing in the middle of a small cluster of buildings in the middle of a vast landscape.

How many times? Too many times. Under his green and white poncho, nails dig into his palms. This time will be different, he promises himself. This time he'll make everything a little easier on everyone. Nobody has to die to appease some bored monster.

He can fulfill his duty. 

He can write the story.

"I hope you enjoy your stay. However long it is. I'm Dream." From behind an enchanted mask he stares Karl down.

History repeats itself, but maybe not this time. Maybe this time it'll be better.


	2. Mimicry and Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or maybe he's deluded himself so much that he is a simple mortal person, who knows nothing but their own being. They are completely and only themselves. Perhaps it's a delusion that leads him to this deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild personal crisis and getting too deep into what humanity is.
> 
> Local entity has too many thoughts.
> 
> TW to brief allusions to not so great mental states

"I'm not interested in talking with you." He sits on the roof, legs dangling over the edge. The slight scrape of a blade being sharpened breaking the quiet of the night. The distant moan of mobs beyond the light of the buildings broke the calm.

"I think you are." There's amusement in the voice. The tap of a quill against a book.

He doesn't look up from his task. An attempt at self soothing that wasn't working. "No, I'm not, but I have a deal." He let the blade disappear back into his inventory.

"Oh? I'm interested."

He bites his tongue and ignores the bitter burn in his chest and the building headache.

\---

More people began to arrive, like always. It's an endless cycle. They build, create, and explore. His heart soars in joy and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth at the same time.

Tommy arrives and well...

Dream is regretting so many choices. Specifically recent ones.

So many regrets, stars help him.

He sends Tommy to what he's named in his head the "time out spot". It has a more official name. But he'll never share the joke. Dream has to maintain some level of professionalism in the server. Being the "admin" is important. And isn't this exactly where he didn't want to end up?

\---

Dream passes as human. In a way he's as human as any other on the server. And he isn't. He enjoys the distance of covering his face. Of hiding too bright eyes and too sharp teeth. Because history forgets the unknown and faceless.

It is very funny to him in some ways, that he mimics humanity. He doesn't need to. He'd heard of others like him, who make themselves gods, ghosts, and spirits. But it never appealed to be so distant and separate from the people in his land. Time and time again he comes, offering help and kindness. Teaching how to cure illnesses, raise sheep, and find ores. But nothing stunning. Nothing that brings attention to himself. People born remember him and don't. It's better that way.

So in all his reflection and mimicry of people he watches and protects and F A I L S. Because there is nothing he can do. Or maybe there is and he's just too foolish and too alone to figure it out. But he fails his purpose over and over and he can't be driven mad and yet he d o e s.

And isn't it ironic? That in a twisted sense of literature, that he has become so imperfect that he fails? 

For he was made to protect the server and its people. To keep them safe so that may live and thrive and grow. 

Or maybe he's deluded himself so much that he is a simple mortal person, who knows nothing but their own being. They are completely and only themselves. Perhaps it's a delusion that leads him to this deal.

There is no great grand word for what he is. No simple explanation. But he made a deal just as any human would. A hope for something better and a bit of a twisted lie. Like in many stories so it has its own phrase.

Because what is a human, but the creators of hope? Nothing else hopes and dreams and almost deluded themself about the future like a person does

And then again, in a way, he is just if not more human than all the people, in their houses asleep (in a way he never could.)

And isn't it ironic?

But Dream isn't human and he can't excuse himself as one does. He may have copied traits, but he doesn't HOPE.

And yet he does.  
\---

It's peaceful, for the most part. Newcomers arrive and he pretends and lies to himself he didn't recognize them from the endless cycle that is the universe. They build and play. Explore and mine and fight mobs. Nobody really notices that for the most part, the habitated places are rarely bothered by the monsters. They are all so young and if Karl notices, he stays quiet. 

He thinks it both amused and bemuses him. How attached Dream is to somethings so brief and fragile in a way beyond his nature compels him to be.

They squabble as humans do. And this is where it all begins really, because he's always been so distant and this time he's directly involved. 

\---

There's disks and there is a opening and Dream is nothing if not great at spotting them. Tommy is so angry and it's a faint burn in his bones and ice in his gut. But Dream has been alive for much longer than Tommy and knows people in a way the younger probably never could. 

He knows exactly how to play the situation.

He knows how to make it interesting.

So he does.

\---

The drug van makes him regret sentience. Again.

Damnit Wilbur.


	3. Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would never understand how human minds worked like that. Probably some sort of self protective thing.
> 
> Or, Dream is trying his best while also being very unkind to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild tw because Dream slightly dehumanizes himself. Mild references to questioning one's reality/perception of things.

This was not part of the plan. He grits too many razor teeth together before forcing the snarl back down his throat. Everyone still thinks he's human. He didn't want to give away that he isn't. There's the possibility of passing as a hybrid. Of looking like a hybrid. But he isn't in the mood for questioning about the noise. Dream doesn't like questions about himself. It made it harder to keep stories straight. Not to mention, and he tries to ignore, any self crisises that follow. Or close enough. But right now he's enraged.

Dream is excitable and happy, yes, but quick to anger? No. This is starting to edge past anger into rage. It's lighting in his veins and lava in his heart now cooling into deep ice. He supposes normally the mortals' decisions wouldn't draw his ire like this. Even with poor and foolish decisions. But for whatever reason, Wilbur wanted to break one of his few rules. Wanted to do drugs and not only that, but drawing literal children into his "rebellion", into drug dealing. And then having the sheer hypocrisy to call him a tyrant for enforcing one of few rules, labelling him a "dictator" when Wilbur declared himself de facto leader of his own country. And planned to keep it that way. He would never understand how human mind's worked like that. Probably some sort of self protective thing.

Dream had to give him credit. In all his centuries he's never seen anything quite like it. So it isn't the plan, but then again people were very difficult to work with. Unpredictable and wild and free. The only creature like it. (And ignores that he is like that too. Because he's supposed to be purely logical and nothing more than a protector. He's not supposed to be messy.) So he lets this plot flow. And how he hates that he sounds like Karl when he thought it. And he hates that he hopes this is enough to amuse the Chaos God. To keep him hands-off and sated. Dream can feel both sides' call for war and it rips him in two. Whispers of their moods brushing his mind, hissing, seething, and L O U D. 

Dream shuts them out, even when he knows L'manburg's plans.

And oh how he wished it was as simple as Wilbur made it out to be.

There are so many times where he's tempted to stop it. To either use his power to bring Wilbur to stop or to just let L'manburg be independent. And he isn't sure what drives him.

If he's just letting centuries of pent up anger out on the wrong people.

If he's scared of the real damage Wilbur could do to his followers.

If he's worried about it getting out of hand.

Or if it's nothing more than the two side's fighting spirit filling him up with nothing else and being restrained to one faction. 

Or maybe it's all of them and he's half mad anyway even if it would be a design flaw for him to be so. Because only people experience madness.

The entity is constantly questioning his own sanity after all this time. What he's doing. Is he doing the right thing?

It has to be.

.  
.  
.  
.  
He has no other choice.

\---

Minds fail. They forget and fade and die. Memories are gone. Names, histories, and places lost to time.

But servers don't forget anything. The code's forever remembered by the world. 

So Dream remembers everything. And the thing that sticks the most to his mind is pain. And it doesn't make sense, because his mind shouldn't be haunted. Any time he "pretends" to sleep he's haunted by such twisted memories they're nightmares. He feels such pity for people and understanding with that. 

It's very ironic that his name is Dream, but he doesn't sleep. His closest mimic ends up being nightmares.

He remembers all the people to ever step foot in his land. The cities, towns, and homes they build. The fights they've had. The deaths or departure of each one. 

He wonders if the universe is on some cursed loop. Because L'manburg is both brand new and old.

\---

He's dramatic in his fights. He doesn't harm or damage others. Even when they set out to kill. He gives dramatic villain speeches, but his "heart" isn't in it. He's still one incident from dropping Wilbur thousands of blocks away in the ocean. He's so tempted to. And if he could get away with it, he would.

\---

When it gets to much, he "wanders off". It worries Sapnap and George. But he needs it. Sometimes he teleports himself far away. Other times he slips into the underlayer of the server, to places nobody else can go. Where there's nothing but him and the very foundation of what makes everything in every world.

It's quiet and peaceful there. Where he came from. There are times he considers not leaving, staying like he probably should have all those millennia ago. But that would have left everyone to deal with Karl when he came to the server those centuries ago.

But in a way he supposes the continued suffering is his fault.

This is one of the times where he has slipped in. Back home. There is existence and non existence, because he isn't physical form here. The code, as Admins call it, curls around and through him. The soft glow of the world's base being comforting.

Sometimes he'd be here to fix something. Make the storms kinder during rough times. Make food more plentiful. In centuries in-between to replace previously mined ores. He's been told he meddles and intervenes more than neccesary. 

But Dream has never met another like him. Has never met anyone who'd really know besides well...him...and that was where he got the meddling comment anyway. The information was biased, not a good source.

The sun has sent the time he pops back into existence in the forest beyond the "Greater SMP land". He slinks through the woods, enjoying the further peace. The mobs don't bother him. They don't actually see him, right now at least. The humans wouldn't either at first. Such an integral part of the world and for beings built to survive, they weren't always observant.

So imagine his surprise when he nearly runs into Tommy, with battered diamond armor, torch in one hand a sword in the other. The teen's string of curses were cut off with a scream when he swung his torch up to illuminate Dream's mask. A sword following, thankfully just out of range.

"What the fuck?" He yells, stepping back. 

"Hush," Dream hisses, drawing his ax to strike down a skeleton who got too close, attracted by the noise. "Do you want every mob nearby to hear you?"

"What are you doing?" Tommy hisses. "You aren't wearing armor, don't have a torch, are you just wandering around in the dark like the creepy bastard you are?" 

Dream can already feel the headache forming. Damn physical body. How Tommy manages to be one of the sole people to both amused and irritate him beyond all belief is beyond him. It's some form of superpower at this point. Is it punishment? "I needed a walk. Why are you so far from L'manburg?"

Tommy shifts uncomfortably. "Wilbur is going on and on about battle plans and all that. I wanted a break." There's more to the story, Dream already knows Wilbur is getting a bit... fanatic. 

"Do you want me to walk you back?" He asks quietly. "I know we're fighting," he cuts Tommy off before he can speak with a wave, "but it's not fair to have you wandering around alone when you're clearly not all there." And if he uses a bit of his abilities so Tommy trusts him not to stab him then and there, well that's not a problem. 

"Tommy," he continues as they start to walk. "You know L'manburg isn't going to win, right?" He expects Tommy to fight. To argue, curse, or yell. He doesn't. Just a quiet affirmation as they swing wide to avoid the gaze of a small horde of zombies. "I'll make a deal with you. If there is a battle, where Wilbur starts to give up or similar, challenge me to a duel." The walls are coming in sight and Dream will have to leave him here.

Tommy however looks stunned. "I know you care about L'manburg, Tommy. Probably the most out of anyone. So how about you'll be the one to free it? You'll know the tone to challenge me to said duel. Be careful, okay?" He laughs before turning and sliding back into the shadows of the night, hidden from the illumination of the moon, towers, and Tommy's lone torch.

\---

The teen stares after the other, before creeping back into his walked city. 

"What was that?" He whispered to himself, when he'd made it back home. He shed his armor, not bothering to clean it up. 

Tommy had always annoyed everyone. He was certain that the Admin hated him. But...if he was an Admin of such a large server, where were his wings? Every Admin of servers like this had wings. Maybe they were hidden under his cloak? Or invisible? But Dadza had said that was a difficult trick that took Admins years to master. Had Wilbur noticed?

As he fell asleep he couldn't help but wonder why Dream was willing to make a deal with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy asks some important questions.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Xali for the title!
> 
> Get ready for boatloads of angst and for everything to go off the canon rails.
> 
> I looked at Tales From The SMP, specially The Town That Went Mad and went "Secret Villain Karl?" Shoved a bunch of headcanons in google docs and went feral.
> 
> Angst for the Angst God


End file.
